


5 Times Kissed

by captainoutoftime



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Kissing, M/M, Suggestive smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainoutoftime/pseuds/captainoutoftime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times kissed: pre-war, wartime, post-ws...</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Kissed

Steve’s beat up again, and Bucky’s dabbing his swollen eye with antiseptic. 

“Stop it. M’fine,” Steve mumbles. He’s been getting beat like this all twenty years of his life, it’s nothing new. He’s pushing Bucky away with more desperation than usual, because the older man smells like aftershave and soap and his hair is done up because it’s Friday, and he’s probably got a girl to make time with, and Steve can’t stand it. “Stop. Leave it, Buck, I don’t need your help.”

The words are venomous, but Bucky just glowers at him, one hand on the bed next to Steve’s leg. “Shuddup, Rogers. You’re being an asshole. Just lemme fix it up a little, then you can go back to bein’ stupid.”

Bucky’s face is so close to Steve’s own. The brunet shaved just this morning, but Steve can see the fine hairs on his cheeks. He can practically taste his breath, and he can see how his lashes tangle together at the corners. Steve can’t make himself close his eyes, but he should, or else he’s going to do something _really_ stupid.

The thing that hurts is that Bucky kisses him back for a while. A _while_. He cups Steve’s jaw, pushes him back onto the bed and climbs up over him. Bucky’s kiss is subtle and practiced, though he doesn’t seem to mind Steve’s overeager sloppiness, countering him with patient teaching. Steve grinds up against him and the thing that hurts is that Bucky’s already  _hard_ , hips pressing him into the thin mattress. Their breaths are ragged and Steve’s got a handful of Bucky’s styled hair, messing it all up and his heart might just burst in his chest because he’s wanted this since he knew how to want and it’s finally happening, he’s so happy he could just die right then and there- and then Bucky’s pushing him away, too strong to resist. 

“No! Stop it,” Bucky says. He sounds angry, but Steve knows his tells well enough to see how his hands shake with what’s either nerves or humiliation. “Never again. We can never do that again. You never talk about this, hear? This didn’t happen.” Then Bucky is gone to go get drunk with some girl, and both Steve’s eyes ache from crying. They don’t speak for a week after, and Steve has no one to put bandages on the real wound he sustained that day.

* * *

Steve is a foot taller and a buck fifty heavier now, but he’s just as unsure, sometimes, when Bucky shivers with fever against him, stubbly face scratching against Steve’s shoulder. He’s whimpering in his sleep again. Whatever Zola did to him musta really messed him up. Steve’s shaking him gently to wake him, and Bucky’s eyes open blearily. 

“Steve. Steve! Don’ go. Don’ go, mmkay?" 

"Not gonna,” Steve promises. “You always stayed with me when I was sick, remember? M’gonna do the same for you." 

"You’re so different now.” It’s a statement of fact, but Bucky makes it sound like a eulogy. 

Steve supports Bucky’s neck and shoulders, helps him sit up to tempt him with some water. “Drink something,” he coaxes. “I’m the same guy. Just stronger.” 

Bucky’s arms tighten, looped around Steve’s neck. “Don’t go,” he slurs again. “Don’t leave me now.” 

“Where would I go? You’re my best friend. You’re all I got." 

He can’t make out Bucky’s words, but they’re panicky in tone, accompanied by vague nods towards Steve’s chest. He only manages a few sips of water, and Steve is starting to really worry about this fever. He presses a hand against Bucky’s forehead with a frown. 

"M’gonna go out and ask medical if they’ve-”

His eyes fly wide as Bucky pulls himself up and kisses him. His lips are hot and feverish against Steve’s and his stubble tickles his cheeks. It’s without finesse entirely, desperate, afraid. Bucky tastes of fear and fever. Shame burns in the pit of Steve’s stomach. “Stop that, Buck,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “You don’t want that.” 

The last thing he needs is Bucky kissing him just so he’ll stay. He won’t take his pity, won’t mistake his desperation for desire. Steve pushes him gently back down onto the cot and takes it as his cue to let the nurses handle it from here.

* * *

Bucky hasn’t said much at all lately. For weeks he was a violent tornado of rage and unapologetic blame. For months, even, he had nothing but venom to spew, and the poison has left Steve weak. He knows. He knows it is his fault that he didn’t go looking for Bucky’s body. He knows he shouldn’t have let Bucky on that train to begin with. He knows that the man who kept him alive- at his own expense, almost always- has suffered a fate worse than death by his inaction. Steve knows, and it eats at him like a disease.

He’s not sure if he prefers this silent, unsure Bucky or the angry one. This silent man wakes himself screaming every night, but refuses comfort. The angry one slept soundly, but would not do so without surrounding himself first with every weapon he could get his hands on. 

Sometimes quiet-Bucky asks him questions. _Did we fight together? Was the apartment drafty from that front window?_ They’re almost always questions that contain more information than the answers Steve can give. He’s remembering on his own, and does not ask Steve to help. Steve can’t blame him for that, for wanting to figure it out by himself. 

“Were we lovers?” he asks, voice low and gravelly from disuse.

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. “No.” 

Bucky’s look up to him is almost betrayed, as if he’s caught Steve in lying to him. “We were,” he said, more surely. “We were. I remember.” 

“No you don’t,” Steve snaps. He never loses his temper with Bucky, but he can’t take this on top of everything else. “You don’t. That never happened." 

They’re quiet for a time. Steve makes dinner. Bucky does the dishes. Steve starts the laundry. Bucky folds it. It would be almost laughably domestic if not for the thick tension between them. 

"I remember,” Bucky says, and Steve’s irritable because Bucky hardly ever gets stubborn about memories, he almost always accepts what Steve says when he’s not sure, and of course he would get all bent outta shape over the one that Steve just can’t tolerate. 

He’s about to open his mouth to insist that no, he did _not_ remember being Steve’s lover because he never _was_ so he _couldn’t_ remember it because it didn’t happen, so unless this was happening in Bucky’s fantasies back then which it _wasn’t_ because Bucky liked girls it couldn’t be in his head at all- then Bucky has him pinned against the wall. He’s kissing him tentatively, hesitantly, in stark contrast to the way his body corner’s Steve’s, his hands explore, his hips rubbing boldly against Steve’s. “I remember,” Bucky whispers again, leaving Steve breathless and panting, alone in his hallway, empty palms stinging.

* * *

Somehow it’s Bucky soothing him. “Shh, shh,” he murmurs, lips tracing patterns down Steve’s torso, across sharp v of his hip. “Shh, Stevie, I gotcha,” he breathes. His flesh hand cups the bulge in Steve’s underwear, palming him. 

Steve’s breathing fast, stretched out on his back, and god, it can’t be happening, because he’s dreamed this dream for too long, it can’t be real, can it? He’s gasping raggedly, biting on his bottom lip so that he doesn’t cry out from either pleasure or the building panic in his chest. _This isn’t real, it can’t be real, it can’t be_. It can’t be because he _wants_ it to be. So, so badly. 

“Buck, don’t- don’t leave me,” he pleads, pulling gently on the ends of Bucky’s hair to bring him closer. He’s sure this will end with Bucky’s disgust like it did before. He’s sure this will end with him curled up on his bed, muffling sobs with a pillow like before, so many years ago. “Don’t go after, we only gotta do what you want, just don’t leave me.” Begging is not a norm for him, and it brings frightened, shameful tears to his eyes. “Please, Bucky, please." 

Bucky’s pupils are still blown wide with arousal, but he slows in his movements, lowering his body so that he’s covering Steve’s. Steve whimpers at the feel of _them_ \- both hard, pressed together now, oh _god_. “You want me to stop? We can stop,” Bucky assures him, smiling a little and brushing the tears off Steve’s cheek. “Let’s stop, okay? We can watch a movie, we-“

"No! No, don’t stop,” Steve blurts. “Don’t stop. I just- don’t leave me, I can’t, I- don’t go." 

Bucky kisses him, soft and slow and sweet. “M’here. Til the…when? I can’t remember, how’s it go?” he teases.

Steve feels safety pull around him like a warm bath. “Shuddup. I know you know it.” His hands shake less as he smooths them down the muscles of Bucky’s back. They don’t shake at all as he squeezes the headboard, or when his nails rake down Bucky’s back. He cries out with the movements of Bucky’s hips- a whimper with each pull back, a moan with every thrust, but these are no longer frightened sounds. 

"Mm- _auh, auh,_ Buck!” Steve’s ungodly loud. He’s sure he’d have woken half the neighborhood if Stark didn’t soundproof the walls so well, but he’s too far gone to care. “M’gonna- m’gonna-“ 

Bucky’s sounds are more guttural- low groans and soft grunts that make Steve’s toes curl. He’s got a tight grip in Steve’s short hair and doesn’t let it go until they’re both shuddering, gasping to catch their breath. Steve kisses him once. It’s a chaste little whisper of a thing, but it comes with words he’s only ever dared think.

"I love you.”

* * *

Steve wears white suit. Bucky prefers a black tux, on this day when they’ll kiss in front of everyone they give a damn about. 

Their rings are simple, and are engraved with the best way they’ve found to say ‘I love you’, to say ‘stay’, to say ‘you’re my best friend’, to say ‘come home’ or ‘be safe’ or ‘I’ll miss you’. 

_Punk._

_Jerk._

“You may kiss,” the priest allows, and Steve can only think ‘ _at last_ ’. 


End file.
